What pottery is teaching me about
healing, motherhood, & midlife growth
Somewhere along the way, we were taught that healing is a straight line. That once we “do the work,” we should be all better—forever.
But real healing? It’s messy. Circular. And sometimes, it shows up in unexpected places—like signing up for a pottery class in your 40s and discovering it’s not too late to try something new.
Jealousy to Joy: Reclaiming Creativity in Midlife
Last summer, my oldest attended a summer camp at our local art center and learned how to throw clay. I was blown away by the beautiful pieces they brought home… and, honestly, a tiny bit jealous.
But it wasn’t just about the pottery.
It was that familiar twinge I’ve felt before—the ache of my inner child watching my kids experience things I never had.
I shared more about this kind of moment in a recent post on parenting while reparenting yourself—how witnessing your children’s emotionally healthy experiences can stir up unresolved pain from your own childhood. That feeling doesn’t make you a bad mom. It makes you a human one, still healing.
I studied art in college, but as a graphic design major, my path was all about required credits and finishing on time. Ceramics 1 (hand-building) fit into the criteria for my degree, but Ceramics 2 (wheel throwing) never fit into the schedule. I carried that regret for years, thinking that I missed my only opportunity.
This spring, a dear friend and neighbor—who’s been throwing pottery as a hobby for a long time—invited me to take a class with her at a local art school. I rearranged my schedule and jumped at the chance.
The class is taught by two older men who met and became friends through years of learning side by side. They’re funny and kind, and being in that space fills my soul.
My creations are far from perfect. Most are wildly imperfect, in fact. And that’s what makes the experience so powerful.
Pottery and Healing: Presence Over Perfection
Throwing clay forces you to slow down. You can’t rush it. You have to be patient and present—meeting the material where it is. It’s humbling, awkward, and uncomfortable to be new at something.
And it’s also healing.
Lately, I’ve found myself watching how-to videos at night, pinning inspiration to a new “Pottery” board on Pinterest, and daydreaming about what I want to try next. For Mother’s Day, we visited an art show in a historic village-turned-art-community outside of Philly, and I made my family stop to watch a woman throwing on the wheel. I was mesmerized. Her technique was so different from the two men who teach my class, and I loved witnessing her flow.
Creating with my hands again has reminded me of something deeper than just creative play—it’s a return to presence. It’s not just about art. It’s about letting go of perfectionism in everything—my art, my mothering, and my life.
Because the truth is, healing doesn’t always look like doing inner work. Sometimes it looks like making a lopsided bowl and loving it anyway.
It’s Not Too Late to Try Something New
So many women I coach feel like they’ve missed their chance. Like if they didn’t do something in their 20s or 30s, it’s too late now.
It’s not.
Midlife can be a renaissance. A reclamation. An invitation to explore the parts of ourselves we tucked away while raising kids, supporting others, or just trying to stay afloat.
Trying something new—just for you—isn’t indulgent. It’s healing.
When we give ourselves permission to explore again, to follow joy without needing to be perfect at it, we remember who we are beneath the roles and routines.
Whether it’s throwing clay, planting a garden, picking up a paintbrush, or learning how to dance—there’s room for newness in your life. You haven’t missed your moment. This is your moment.
A Journal Prompt for You
If you’re in a season of growth—or even just feeling stuck—here’s something to explore:
Where in your life could you give yourself permission to be a beginner again?
What might shift if you allowed healing to be creative, curious, or even fun?
You don’t have to earn your joy. You just have to follow it.
xx, Kelly